The Drunken Pilgrim

sour beerby Kevin Deweber

I love Texas. I really do. It’s home. It’s turned me into the man I am today (those that know me can critique that man in the comment section). I love my barbecue, my Cowboys, and my drawl that sounds straight from a Nascar pit crew. However, if I don’t leave occasionally, I would probably wind up drunk, and pissing in the middle of the street, in the Fort Worth Stockyards, talking about the good ol’ days, when there was no such thing as “fleek”. So, occasionally, I book an impromptu trip. I pack a carry-on with way-too-few clothes, and I get to the airport as soon as possible. I will now attempt, through relaying my debauchery on one of those trips, to persuade you to drop what you are doing this weekend, and get the hell out of town.

First, let’s hammer out prerequisites that you should take into account in your spontaneous weekend trips. You cannot be a demanding traveler, period. I feel I need to beat you about the head with this tidbit. When I travel, I intend to spend my money stupidly at my final destination, not spend my money stupidly on the travel to get there. So, yeah, I’ve been crammed into an economy seat between seemingly an asthmatic sumo wrestler, and a severely ill-tempered, and gassy retiree. I’ve even watched a girl that I can only assume was Snookie’s post-op cousin get booted from a plane for cussing a crying infant. My traveling arrangements aren’t luxurious, but they are efficient. They get me there, wherever “there” is, for cheap.  

As far as the destination, I require a place that offers good beer, good food, good people, and is walkable. In the summer, I want temperatures slightly cooler than Beezelbub’s butthole. And finally, Uber, or Lyft, or some comparable service to come find me when I’ve undoubtedly drunkenly stumbled into that fourth dimension that drunk people go to when they have no idea where they are, or why there is a homeless lady yelling at them.

In May of this year, I took my not so considerable talents to Denver. I went to Biker Jim’s, and had a rattlesnake/pheasant hotdog. I went to the Denver Zoo, and watched the lions playing in the snow. While the bourbon leaked from my pores, I listened to an incredible blues duo in a hole-in-the wall bar, as the locals passed by them, uninterested. I got called “Fat Tony Romo” by a dude that looked like Tom Hanks’ alcoholic brother. And got invited to a house party after joining a guy I had just met, on stage, to karaoke the chorus of Prince’s “Let’s Get Crazy”. The shenanigans were on par with all of the weird things I have become to believe is just part and partial of my life, just in the Mountain Time Zone.

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Now, something about me. My brain is filled with 80’s cartoon theme songs, every nude scene from every movie I’ve ever watched, and a vocabulary populated with mostly four letter words. However, one little kernel of intellect has opened all sorts of doors for me on my travels. I know beer. Not extensively. Not as intimately as I remember the first time I saw a bra, but I do know beers. And that has made me more friends and accomplices than my not-so-substantial charm and wit. Beer knowledge has walked me into some awesome places, and beer knowledge, opened up Denver like a drunken Pandora’s Box. I went from brewery, to distillery, to brewpub, and then back to brewery practically daily. And it was a blast.

I began my drunkenness by saluting a toast to my fear of the totally-not-fake apeman that roams the North American continent. If you’re a beer drinker, you’ve had a Yeti, from Great Divide. But have you had a Chocolate Oak-aged Yeti, fresh from the barrel? I didn’t think so, and I believe the term is “na na na na boo boo”.. I stumbled into River North brewery, and had a heated discussion with a bartender about what rocky mountain oysters truly were, and explained to him that I was from the Metroplex. To which, he pulled out a bottle of Revolver “Blood and Honey”, and had me share it with him, so he could tell his friends he drank a Texas beer with a true Texan. I threw up devil horns while jamming to Dio, in Apex brewery, I took a Chinese tourist couple’s picture by a giant brass gorilla in Winkoop brewery.

I also drank whiskey. I went next door of Great Divide, to Mile High Spirit Distillery, and shared a perfectly made Old Fashioned, made with the bourbon distilled there, with a cross-eyed bridesmaid. I went to a speakeasy, named Williams and Graham, concealed behind a bookshelf in a non-descript building on the west side of town. And, without a reservation, they would have turned me away. Thankfully, the staff at my hotel had kind of adopted me as their drunken mascot, and ensured that I pointed my toes in the proper direction for fun every day that I walked out of their automatic doors.

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The point of all of this, is that I had fun, and you should too! Sure, I don’t remember it all, and it concerns me that an unknown caller continues to call me from a Denver area code. And I should probably look up Colorado’s statute of limitation laws, and that one bump hasn’t gone away yet. But, I had fun, and came back refreshed and ready to get back to loving my Texas again. I’m telling you. Do it. Pack a carry-on. Choose a random city you’ve never been to. DO NOT make an itinerary, and go get lost somewhere. Be whoever you want to be. I have fallen in love with the travel bug. I haven’t developed a full blown case of Wanderlust yet, but it’s a growing infection. I’ve already begun budgeting for my next trip, knowing that I won’t decide where I am going, until a few days before. I just need to see new places, and meet new people. I need the opportunity to make a complete ass of myself in front of complete strangers with weird accents. And, hopefully, I’ll bump into you somewhere off the beaten path, and you can buy me a beer, and I’ll buy you a shot, and I’ll tell you about the lady I met at the previous bar that looks like Dolly Parton’s meth head sister. Either way, have safe travels. Hell, have unsafe ones, just get your ass out of Dodge occasionally!

Kevin Deweber could be Tony Romo’s doppleganger if not for the beer gut, lack of a beautiful wife, and inability to lead a team. Find him behind the bar at LUCK in Trinity Groves.

 

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